Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

through the trees. Square in shape, its corners punctuated by stocky towers tipped with silver cupolas, it resembled a palace. The first floor was solid wall, a wealth of sculpture and textures shiny with metallic luster. Atop the wall sat a pillared hall: huge, airy arches, defined by slender columns and guarded by a low latticed rail. Above it, on the roof of the building, a garden bloomed, an exotic riot that made even the verdant jungle barren in comparison. Bizarre trees spread their branches, tinseled with blood-red garlands of vines. Thousands of flowers bloomed, interrupted by ornate ponds.
    The hum swelled. The metal palace rumbled and crept up, higher and higher above the treetops, above us, into the sky. A cloud of steam billowed from its fundament and coalesced into a dense curtain of fog. In a moment the palace disappeared from view and the sky gained a small cloud.
    I blinked a couple of times and held my arm to Jim. “Pinch me.”
    Claws sliced my flesh. Ow.
    I stared at a couple of red dots on my forearm and licked them, tasting the sharp bite of magic on my tongue. Yep. Real. I did just see a golden palace fly off.
    A small clearing marked the spot where the palace had rested. Sand-colored structures interrupted the greenery: terraced roofs, an overgrown gateway, and in the distance a tall stone spire.
    “Home, sweet home?” I murmured.
    “We should visit. I feel hungry.”
    I nearly fell off the roof. Jim couldn’t speak in a half-form. Until now, that was. His grotesque jaws had shredded the words into rags, but I still recognized the meaning. “The jungle has been good to you,” I said.
    “My kind of place.”
    “If we go down there, there’s no guarantee we’ll make it out.”
    Jim shrugged.
    “As long as you’re game.” I looked around for a foot-hold.
    A muscled arm swiped me by my waist. Jim pushed off and suddenly we were airborne, flying above the ground very far below. My heart tried to jump into my throat. We punched through the canopy and landed on a thick branch. I remembered to breathe. “A little warning next time.”
    Jim made a raspy sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh. “Welcome to the jungle.”
     
     
    THE BRUSH WAS DENSE. SLENDER TREES WITH oval leaves and vast crowns mixed with teak choked by ficus. Here and there unfamiliar shrubs dripped pink and purple flowers reminiscent of orchids. Acacias, their bark dark on crooked stems, sifted mimosa-scented pollen from long yellow blossoms. Tall, twisted trees offered clusters of orange-red flowers, so vivid their branches looked on fire. Vines bound it all, perfuming the air with a faint scent reminiscent of jasmine.
    I did my best to move quietly, but Jim flashed his teeth at me twice. He glided through the brush on soft paws like a phantom, sleek and deadly.
    We climbed atop a low hill and went to ground at its apex. An ancient city lay below us. Crumbling structures sat strewn across a wide clearing amid sand-colored granite boulders. Ruined houses and square pavilions jutted like islands of granite from the sea of green grass. An overgrown street, paved with smooth square slabs, ran diagonally to the left of us, terminating in an ancient marketplace. At the far end of the clearing, a husk of a tower stabbed the sky: a tall, square base, upon which smaller and smaller square stories were stacked. It looked like a Dravidian temple to me, but I was far from an expert on India.
    I looked to Jim. He slipped away, leapt up on the roof of the nearest structure, and slunk into the depths of the old city. I sank deeper into the brush and settled for a wait.
    Around me birds sang a dozen melodies. I studied the jungle. No sign of animals. No snakes slithering along tree limbs, no paw prints, no scratches on the trunks. You’d think there would be monkeys, foxes, maybe wolves. Nothing. Aside from distant bird songs, the jungle might as well have been dead.
    Jim leapt into the grass next to me. “One building in the back, several Reapers: three, maybe more.”
    “Hunters?”
    “Could be. A lot of animal smells and blood.”
    It made sense—flying away in a magical palace was all good and well, but the Reapers still had to eat. In their place I’d leave small hunting parties in the jungle and park by them once in a while to pick up the meat.
    “Human blood, too,” Jim said.
    Human blood was never good.
    We headed into the ruin, Jim along the rooftops and on the ground, hugging the ancient walls. Unfamiliar